


Keep Me Company

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, but it's not overly explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: Written for a challenge and including a quote from Schitt's Creek.The female and Ketch have an established relationship. You know how it goes, something casual turns into something more.Also posted on tumblr @butiaintgonnaloveem
Relationships: Arthur Ketch/Reader, Arthur Ketch/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Keep Me Company

_Arrogant._

That’s what he is, but the word’s not sharp enough to be an insult. Not one he’d care about anyway.

“You seem a bit wound up. Something on your mind?” he asks.

She wants to tell him that she hates him. It’s the easy thing to do. It’s not even like he’s a good person, but it wouldn’t be true and he’d see it for exactly what it is - antagonism.

Always polite, patient, and god damn glorious in bed. He’s done nothing outright to deserve such wrath, either. Except for doing nothing out of the ordinary at all.

“How so?” she tries for casual and evidently fails based on the look of annoyance he throws her way.

“You’re quiet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re bored.” 

“Well…” she trails off, unsure of what to say or how to say it. She knew what came next - sex. Of course, before that there were drinks. Her glass would never be empty, from bar to table to the hotel suite, which is not usually the issue. Then there was dinner, followed by a dessert that would be left unfinished at the table. As she mulls it all over, she wonders if maybe that was where this night went wrong; unfinished thoughts clouded by alcohol, or maybe the wine was too relaxing. Either way, the brain to mouth filter malfunction was unstoppable.

“You should be _nicer_ to me,” she blurts out.

That gets an eyebrow lift in response, then a squint as he thinks over her words. “I do believe I have behaved like the gentleman I was raised to be.”

“That’s not,” she heaves a sigh as she collects her thoughts, “I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then by all means, please elaborate,” he says as he sets the cloth napkin on the table and sits back. He’s letting her pick this fight and he knows it.

“I don’t appreciate being put on the spot.”

“I don’t appreciate my companion keeping secrets from me.”

That word. So emotionless and generic. It’s what sets her off.

“You know that you sound like Humperdinck?”

“What?”

“Your voice, your accent. You sound like Prince Humperdinck from ‘The Princess Bride.’ He was an arrogant asshole too.”

His lips purse and she watches the corner of his mouth twitch. “What, exactly, does that have to do with our evening?”

“Nothing. It just annoys me.”

He scrutinizes her, “I see.” He calls for the check and doesn’t bother to initiate further conversation. He still gets up first and helps to pull out her chair for her. Then guides her with a hand at her waist, and steps forward to open doors.

The car ride is silent aside from the quiet music playing and while it’s not comfortable, she’s also foolishly not telling him the night is over. Her back aches from the tension and from twisting her body to face away from him and toward the window. The dark tinted glass doesn’t give much of a view of the outside, but she can watch his reflection from time to time as it catches the light and catches him with that damn smirk of his.

_Arrogant and smug, what a combination._

When they finally make it into the hotel suite, he drops the careful grin he used in public, twisting his neck with obvious annoyance.

“Well now, shall we talk like adults or do you plan to insult me for the evening?” He pulls the door closed behind her and then moves to the closet, meanwhile she stands still in the entryway of the suite, stubborn. 

“I can do both.”

“As fun as that sounds, it’s not what I had in mind for our time together.” He removes his jacket and hangs it in the closet, smoothing down its front before turning back to her.

“Right, because that would mess up your routine, and here we are already ahead of schedule.” She turns so the zipper of her dress is facing him, “Go ahead, let’s do this.”

He pauses with one hand at the knot of his tie, ready to loosen it. Again, the look of scrutiny aimed her way. “Ahead of schedule? What does that mean?”

She turns to him and sighs, her expression flat, she was fed up. “It means, Arthur, that every time we do this, it’s the same thing. A call, a fancy dinner, drinks, dessert, then back to the hotel suite, another drink, you undress me and then we end up in bed.”

“It’s more than that,” he argues half-heartedly, “And you’ve never left unsatisfied.” It almost sounds like a question, or perhaps an accusation.

“That’s true, but…”

“But what?” he steps closer, hands in his pockets and face unreadable.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Her face burns hot, hating herself immediately for how needy it sounds.

He stares, his face unchanging. His breathing measured and posture the usual - upright and commanding. 

Her body burns hot and cold while her stomach twists and flips. She’s afraid to move because just about anything might set off the instinct to cry at the moment, either from anger or embarrassment. She tries to keep the tremble from her voice as she asks the next question on her mind. 

“Maybe this one is easier: would you miss me if you never saw me again?”

“You know that in this line of work--” He begins, calm, rehearsed, but it angers her further.

_Arrogant, smug, and standoffish._

“I am not asking for promises. Jesus Christ, I know exactly how things are, I don’t need a speech about how we might die on a hunt, about how we need to focus on the bigger picture. Okay? I know all of that.” Her face falls, “I also know that you are not the heartless killing machine that people describe you as.”

He opens his mouth to deny it but she cuts him off. 

“No! No, Arthur. I mean, yes, you kill, but you’re allowed to care for people too. Like it or not, you cared for Toni in some way I will never understand, and,” she hesitates, “And there was Mary Winchester.”

He visibly reels just at the name, but does well to keep control over his reaction, not letting much more out even as he speaks. “Why? Admitting something like that puts us both in danger, allows others to use it against you, and for what? A moment of happily ever after? To satisfy your curiosity or to feel as though you’ve won?”

“You’re not void of emotion, no matter how hard those bastards tried to beat it out of you. I feel like you care, and I’ll admit that I want you to. But whether you honestly do or don’t, I just don’t want to feel like a whore you pay for with an expensive meal and a hot shower. If nothing else, don’t you at least consider me a friend? Or is ‘companion’ really the best I am ever gonna get?”

In a blink, he resets to a more neutral expression, lips only slightly pursed as he thinks. “Is all this really because I called you my companion at dinner?” He turns and moves to a marble counter, pouring the bourbon into two tumbler glasses. He hands one to her and out of habit, she takes it, hand trembling, holding it to her chest as she watches him take a large sip. 

“I don’t need you to tell me anything that isn’t true.” Her gaze drops to the amber liquid in the glass, “I don’t need promises or anything else. But, what I do want is to know that I am not just a placeholder, or a warm body.” Looking back up, she checks he’s listening, seeing if her words are hitting their mark, “I care about you, and I would sure as hell miss you if you left my life after tonight. I just...I just want to know that...God this all sounds so much worse than I imagined.” She turns and paces away, fingers swiping along her bottom lashes to collect the tears gathering.

“I thought you weren’t asking for promises,” he accuses.

“I’m not!” She erupts. She immediately realizes it was the wrong reaction as he squares his shoulders and widens his stance for an argument. After taking a sip and letting it slowly roll down her throat, she softens her tone and tries another approach, “I’m asking for emotion, for you to tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see a difference.” 

_Arrogant, smug, standoffish, and dense._

“You’re serious?”

“I would hardly call myself an expert on this subject. And by subject, I mean genuine human emotion. Though, you know, it never ends well for those who want the best of both worlds. Believe me, it’s best to draw the line right there.” He tells her, using his free hand to indicate an imaginary line, but failing to meet her eyes.

And there it is, slight as could be, but still a chink in his armor. There was the man she knew wanted affection, but denied himself at every turn.

“Yeah, I am getting that. For all your skills picked up from the Men of Letters, how are you so terrible at this?” She takes another sip from her glass, “Nevermind. Do not answer that.” 

_Arrogant, smug, standoffish, dense, abstentious._

She takes a moment, weighing the pros and cons of her thought before expressing it out loud, “Do you think that avoiding happiness is going to keep you from being hurt?”

He scoffs, slipping the tie loose from his collar and pulling it from around his neck. In an uncharacteristic move, Arthur drops it onto the chair nearby instead of neatly setting it away. He sips on his drink while considering the question, eyes wandering like the answer might suddenly appear written on the walls. Moments pass during the quiet, but when he finally lifts his head to speak, his expression has softened.

“I don’t avoid happiness.” He talks as he sets his drink down and moves towards her, “I have plenty in my life to keep me happy,” he takes her drink from her hand, “I try, and evidently fail, to avoid attachment or sentiment.”

He takes her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing across her knuckles, then turning it over and gently placing a kiss to her palm. He then turns her hand again, leaning his cheek into it, meeting her curious gaze. 

“I see the weakness in those who invest too much in others. I’ve felt it in myself. Misplaced expectations and projections of fears and needs muddling things up.” He grips her other hand and holds it between their chests, tight but not too tight. It’s meant to keep her attention on him, not that she could focus on anything else when he’s that close and unguarded.

“With something to lose it’s nearly impossible to make the hard choices, and that is who I am. I’m the one called in for the less appealing jobs; someone with nothing to lose and no one to leave behind.”

“Arthur,” she whispers, heart aching and chest tight with hurt. But not by his words this time, by the truth in his tone. Hurt for him.

“It’s alright, love. It’s the role I play,” He lets their hands drop from his cheek, his grip loose in her hand, but she clutches it tighter. 

“Do you really believe you wouldn’t leave anything behind?” She asks, watching him, waiting for another flicker, some small flinch to indicate he would let himself have this.

He frowns at her, like an animal that can see so plainly the object of desire, and yet knows there’s a trap they can’t make out. He pulls his hand from hers and turns.

“Nothing but ghosts, and maybe a few women,” He huffs, trying to turn the heaviness of the question into a joke. 

That’s it, that’s the last rejection she can take. She turns for the door, even opens it, before he’s in front of her, stopping her, eyes full of terror for abandonment. 

“Don’t leave,” tries to order, but winces at the desperation in his voice. 

“Ask me to stay,” She whispers. “Or tell me that I mean nothing to you and let me leave. You really can’t be that desperate for a fuck, can you?” She stares at him dead-on, letting him hear it in her words, and read it in her body language that she isn’t bluffing. 

“I…” He clears his throat, straightens his shoulders, trying to gain control of the situation, while fidgeting with discomfort. When he doesn’t say anything, she makes another move for the door behind him.

“Stay.” He watches her, as if unaware he’s said it. 

_Vulnerable._ A word she never thought she would use for him.

She doesn’t need him to say it again, she heard it loud and clear. It doesn’t stop the knee-jerk reaction as she stares back and eloquently asks, “What?”

“You know, I don’t often make requests unless I am certain I will get what I want,” he tries for the usual Ketch swagger, but it sounds more broken than anything.

“I couldn’t have been more clear that all you had to do was ask.”

“Then stay?”

They watch each other for a few seconds, making certain that neither would move. She lets go of the door, allowing it to slam shut behind her, then puts a hand at the back of his neck and pulls him in to kiss her. He’s pliant, but steady as he goes along with her guidance. His one arm reaches around her waist while the other spreads wide at the back of her head, holding her mouth to his.

His feet move along as she shuffles them back toward the bed, but he stops them before they can tumble onto the sheets.

He pulls away, eyes steely blue and dark, and huffing breaths against her cheek. “It was never my intention to make you feel unappreciated.” His fingers move while he speaks, nimble fingers pulling down the zipper of her dress and letting it fall open and loose on her back.

She looks up at him, making certain he sees the genuine acceptance she offers, “I know.” She shrugs her shoulders, letting the straps fall and the fabric begin to fold down and around her, caught over his hands.

He slowly begins to lower himself down to the ground, onto his knees, hands gently skimming over her body, her dress following, before both rest at her hips, eyes never leaving hers. “I certainly never intended to make you feel unwanted.”

A trembling breath passes between her lips while she looks down at him. He stares back confidently yet penitent as he kneels in front of her, hands spreading over her as though eager to grab, but full of restraint and remaining tender.

“I fully intend to make it up to you,” his voice is soft and steady. His thumbs move to meet at the center of her stomach, just below her belly button. Then, with fingers spread wide, he slides them down, pulling the dress until it falls in a circle around her feet. He hums and looks her up and down appreciatively, “Many, many times over.”

_Sometimes he can be vulnerable and affectionate, too._

She looks up and says a silent ‘thank you’ to no one in particular. Her hands rest at her sides, sometimes flinching when his touch almost tickles, but patiently waiting as he teases her. His lips skim along the skin above her underwear, and his hands roam across her lower back, ass, and the backs of her thighs. His breaths are warm and controlled, heating her skin as he moves close, but not exactly to where she is starting to grow wet. 

Her own breaths become shaky and uneven as she waits for what feels like an unfair amount of time, one hand clenched in a fist as she debates just shoving her fingers into her own underwear to get things moving along. With the other, she pushes through his hair. It’s longer than he’s kept it before, and she can feel where it’s twisting into curls at the ends. Her fingertips tickle along the back of his neck, just under his hairline, feeling the sweat already start to dampen his collar. 

She pulls her hand back to drag her nails through, drawing a low growl from him that she feels more than she hears. He tilts his head with the movement her hand as it strokes through his hair and he stares up at her again, pink splotches marking his cheekbones and giving away his excitement.

“You can really get started with that anytime now,” she tries to joke, but it’s edged with desperation.

“As you wish,” he says with a playful glint in his eye.

She gasps, “You -” but doesn’t finish because of course he takes that moment to start to press his thumb in circles of pressure over her, making her nerves tingle, setting off a rush of pleasure. “Ohh. More,” she whispers.

He cheekily replies again, “As you wish.”

_Vulnerable, affectionate, playful._

There is no stopping her smile now, “You bastard,” she accuses, but the insult falls as flat as she does as he pushes her down to the bed. She lands with a surprised laugh which turns airy as he pulls her underwear down from her waist.

He starts to kiss at her calf, moving his way up her legs with his mouth and hands constantly wandering, massaging, tickling. “I am a bastard, but I still know the classics. I am certainly more like Westley than you give me credit for.”

“Tell me how perfect my breasts are then,” she mumbles.

He chuckles and stops at the tops of her thighs, muttering something that sounds like an affirmation before he uses just his fingertips to graze along her sensitive skin. He watches for a few seconds as he spreads her wetness back and forth. She feels the heat of his breath as he moves in, and gently presses his lips and the tip of his tongue against her. When he places his mouth on her, she immediately bucks up into him, greedy for pressure and movement. 

With a blink, he turns his look upward, leering at her. His lips spread slightly as he applies more pressure, allowing two of his fingers to tease at her entrance, all while he watches for her reactions.

She remains still, playing along with his little game for a moment, but when he slides away, just shy of where she wants his fingers, she loses all patience.

“What happened to making it up to me?” She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows.

He shifts himself onto the bed until he is face to face with her again, looking her over as though trying to memorize her. 

“Well, you are going to stay, aren’t you?” He stares into her eyes as he waits for her answer.

“Yes,” she tells him, unwavering.

“Well then,” he slides back down her body, stopping to kiss across her collarbone and down one breast, and then the other. The soft kisses tickle more than they linger, but lead in a direct path back between her legs, where he settles on his knees on the floor. “I’ve got time, haven’t I?”

_Thorough._ That’s another word for him.


End file.
